


Invasive Procedure

by rusblk



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gore, M/M, Murder, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rusblk/pseuds/rusblk
Summary: There is an intruder on the station. Garak is not to be fooled.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, One-Sided Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Invasive Procedure

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags!  
> Originally written in April. Translated from Korean.  
> I was not sure about prepositions so beta'd a bit.

There was an intruder on the station.

Garak, Deep Space Nine’s resident not-quite tailor knew it. He was fooled once and was sure he won’t be fooled again. He accepted every visible evidence and doubted every counterevidence. For example, there was an incident last week.

Garak’s lunch companion was just entering the Replimat. He clashed the tray on the table and Garak reflexively took a look at his lunch menu.

“Sorry I’m late. I just finished this week’s blood screening.”

“Don’t bother, come take a seat. There was no changeling, I guess?”

“Of course. If someone was caught, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Would the blood test really be effective?”

The doctor dragged the chair outward and was shoving his long legs under the table. He stopped what he was doing and stared at Garak.

“…I know what you want to say. All those tests, and we couldn’t find out. But I think it’s better than nothing. ‘It’… it clearly disguised as CMO to evade screenings.”

“Does that mean it could have easily manipulated the results?”

“Yes. We changed the test methods to prevent such unfortunate events from happening again. Since we are taking other preventive measures, there’s no need to worry. So, can I hear how far you’ve read the novel?”

This, without a doubt, was evidence to support his hypothesis. First, the least suspected name on the station was Julian Bashir. That poor doctor was captured in a Dominion prison for a month! And yet he works so hard, poor him. Garak knew what others will say without having to hear them. Nobody thinks that their clever enemy will use the same method twice. And that was the exact reaction the Dominion wanted.

Second, Bashir had no obligation to report every detail of his work to Garak. He was often late for their shared lunch and most of the time he had an excuse of a late patient. For that reason, the mention of a test belonging to Starfleet secrecy was outright deliberate. Obviously a talk to ease Garak. He was not fooled.

And there was something like this.

Garak knew the doctor’s bodily odor. Cardassians’ olfactory senses are more sensitive than humans. The changeling, knowing the fact, replicated heavily spiced food every time it accompanied Garak for a meal. It kept distance when Garak was not with Ziyal. But, one cannot use the same method for so long. His shoulder brushed Garak’s as they left the Replimat together and Garak smelled an unfamiliar scent. It was cool with a sweet finish. When Garak pointed it out, he replied with a simple answer, but none less elaborate.

“Oh, that? It’s a special occasion.”

Even his cheeks flushed a bit. Garak could not stand the artificiality of the situation. And that had become the third evidence. He uses perfume to mask the odor.

The last evidence was completed right this afternoon. Garak told the doctor that the torturous headache he suffered back at the camp had returned. Several days had passed since Garak was given medication and the doctor called him to the infirmary for a checkup. Garak didn’t bother to resist and obediently walked into the infirmary. The doctor sat him on a biobed and hovered a tricorder above his head.

“How’s the headache?”

“As usual. What does the device say?”

“The same. I can’t see what’s wrong.”

“Well. Some problems cannot be solved with machinery and chemicals.”

“It may not be physical, it can be mental.”

He lowered his posture to meet his gaze. Garak didn’t waver.

“Tell me what I can do for you. Anything.”

“Anything.”

‘Give him back.’ Instead, Garak said:

“The headache gets worse as the night deepens. Come to my quarters tonight. Your devices… drugs… bring everything you need. I don’t want to endure this pain anymore…….”

He added a perfect tremor at the end. There was only one conclusion. He was either an intruder acting as a devoted doctor or an intruder trying to make an escape. Garak lowered his head for dramatic effect and waited for the answer. Cold fingers touched his shoulder. Garak suppressed the shiver incited from hatred.

“I’ll be there. I……. I don’t want you to be hurt anymore.”

That was exactly the answer Garak expected. He expressed gratitude with false trembling eyes and left the infirmary, steps faltering.

Thud thud thud. Garak listened to regular footsteps coming closer. The sound stopped. He opened the door before the bell rang. With the air whooshing, a voice called out.

“Garak! How,”

Garak grabbed the form obscuring light from the hallway and threw it inside. The lithe body shook for a moment but soon came to its feet. Garak saw his own shadow and leaked light rays cast shade on the body. Not wasting time for observation, he pulled the trigger. It wasn’t set to kill. He didn’t want it to disappear without a trace. It was unfortunate that he hadn’t seen a changeling shot, furthermore, he didn’t know the full effects of a stun setting, but it was the optimal option.

The medical kit dropped with a loud noise. Garak blamed himself for being inconsiderate. There was no time for remorse. He slowly approached the intruder. Its limbs were spread with odd angles like a discarded toy. The eyes were open but the expression was not to be seen. Lights to twenty percent, he mumbled.

It was still without movement as Garak held and turned the face. Its eyes were loose and his mouth was gaping, but it was the same face he saw during the day. He didn’t know how long it will stay paralyzed. He dragged it, seated it on the wall, and stabbed the thigh. A stream of dark, sticky liquid flowed. Thought it would be brighter, generalization was dangerous a dangerous road indeed.

He fixed its torso and neck to the floor, knowing that it would be meaningless to shape-shifters. Then he took the saw and began to cut its legs. If the volume connected to the head was reduced, maybe, maybe the changeling might lose its strength. He was testing every possible method.

The body flinched when he just started cutting off the left arm. More liquid gushed out. It seemed as if it was trying to return to its original form. Suddenly Garak was terrified. The last time he interrogated a changeling, there was a device turned on to prevent their transformation. Without the device, the trigger was pulled again and the head drooped again.

Finished, Garak looked down at the work for a moment. The floor and walls were messy with fluid. Droplets were spattered over the pre-laid tarp. It will take some time to wipe it off. There was also a strange smell. That was the real odor of the changelings. Strange, he thought. I think I scented it somewhere.

Its eyes regained focus. Garak was right. It couldn't return to its original form, only giving small flinches. Its face was distorted with fear ― changeling's expression could be quite convincing. It opened its mouth wide and made a hoarse noise. Garak asked.

“Where is Doctor Bashir?”

It screamed. Startled, Garak put a hand into its mouth. The bite was weak ― it was the last struggle. He wiped off the squashy texture from his finger and asked again.

“Where is Julian Bashir?”

Still no response. It looked at Garak for a moment but lost consciousness again. The liquid flow was diminishing. Then it completely stopped. That was it.

Garak detached the chains that held the body and neck off the floor. The cut limbs and torso were put together and wrapped in a tarp. The cloth was small, and the head stuck out. Garak looked at the face one last time and incinerated the cloth with a phaser. He soaked up the liquid with towels and used a moistened towel to wipe the floors and walls, but the stains remained. He rinsed the cloth in the bathtub, squeezed it, opened the drain, and put a pile of stinky cloth in the replicator for recycling.

By the time he lay on the bed, his nose got used to the metallic stench. He smelled nothing and felt nothing. He fell asleep making plans for tomorrow to find Dr. Bashir with a blood-spattered blanket dragged all the way up to his neck.


End file.
